“Yes, fourth waltz.”
Removing his own dance card from his jacket, King glowered. “That’s eight dances away. Need I remind you that we weren’t planning to stay long?”
“Since you won’t be needing that—” Knight plucked the card from his fingers. “Go on without me, and I’ll catch up with you later.”
“How will you manage such a feat? You’re unlikely to find a hansom around here.”
“I’ll walk back to London proper and secure one there. Or I’ll borrow someone else’s carriage. Don’t worry about me, old chap. I’ll make do.”
“I’m not going to abandon you here. What possessed you to ask for a dance?”
Knight shrugged. “I’ve always had a soft spot for brown eyes.”
“You have a soft spot for the shade of any lady’s eyes.”
“True enough. She’s pretty.”
“A lot of girls are pretty. There must be more to it.”
He didn’t know how to explain it. “I find her intriguing.”
“Because she didn’t find you so?” King studied him. “You’re accustomed to women falling over themselves to gain your favor. I didn’t see her waving her fan around to convey secret messages.”
She’d looked through him as though he hardly counted. Perhaps that was part of it. He wanted to impress upon her that he did count, very much indeed.
For the entirety of her life, Regina had been whispered about behind her back. It shouldn’t bother her so much that the whispers were in earnest this evening, and creating such a low, thrumming din they were nearly impossible to ignore, even if she couldn’t make out the exact words being uttered. She knew it was unusual for the illegitimate daughter of a lord tohave a coming-out. But her father had never treated her with disgust for being born on the wrong side of the blanket. How often had he told her:You were a creation of love, not duty?
Even if duty and his other family had kept him away for long periods of time. He’d provided this residence for her and her mother. And a governess to care for her when her mother performed. And clothes, a pony, and tutors. And now this ball where she should feel like a princess, but instead felt more like the ugly stepsister. Because no matter what he gave her, it was always tainted with the knowledge her mother hadn’t been good enough to wed. And by association neither was she. Not without a substantial dowry.
She knew it all to be true because the gentlemen who had danced with her thus far had made it abundantly clear. They’d taken her on a turn about the dance floor because it was expected. A gentleman didn’t ask for a lady’s hand in marriage without swirling her at least once around the ballroom. She had learned from her mother how to hold her head up high, how not to let it show that all the tiny cuts were a death delivered by a thousand knives. Ah, yes, Mother had been an incredible actress on the stage, but it was her performance in life that should have earned her the greatest acclaim. However, so few saw it because she was hidden away from Society except for the moments when she stepped into a theater.
While Regina didn’t doubt her father’s affection for her, she’d never been inside his London residence where he resided with his family, had never been introduced to her siblings or his wife. Had never beenwelcomed at his country estate. He might not be ashamed of her but neither did she feel fully embraced. She was grateful for all he’d given her, all he’d provided. Yet, still there seemed to be a chasm, something missing, that had begun to yawn all the wider since her mother passed two years before.
She’d hoped this affair tonight would begin to fill it. Instead, it only made her miss Mum more, especially as her current dance partner didn’t speak at all, didn’t even bother to meet her gaze but stared off into the distance. Having noticed him chatting with others, she knew he was capable of speech. But not with her apparently. He was cold and irascible. She wondered if she should make him aware that her father would not accept any offer of marriage without her approval. She certainly wasn’t going to commend someone so taciturn, who looked as though he feared his face might crack if he so much as smiled.
UnlikeFourth Waltzwho was waiting for her when this polka finally came to an end. His smile wasn’t large and bold, but was smaller, almost gentle, the one she’d seen a groomsman use when striving to calm a skittish mare. He also locked his blue gaze on her dark one, making it impossible to look away. The man didn’t wait for her current partner to lead her off the dance floor but met them partway and smoothly transferred her hand from the arm of the gentleman beside her to his own. “I have her now, Wallop.”
Mr. Wallop, the second son of a viscount, gave her a curt bow before marching away.
“Hope he didn’t talk your ear off,” the Earl of Knightly said, a bit of teasing and knowledge in histone. She wondered if he’d been watching, knew precisely how many words Mr. Wallop had uttered, or knew the man by reputation and his not speaking while dancing was a common occurrence.
“No, they are still both quite intact.”
“And so very lovely.”
Disappointment washed over her because he was going to strive to charm her with false flattery. She knew of worse ways to go. She’d just experienced one. The light strains from the orchestra began to fill the air.
“Shall we?” he asked, and she quite suddenly found herself swept onto the dance floor in a manner more graceful than any she’d experienced all night.
Oh, he was good. Accomplished. He had to have spent hours perfecting his steps. He made her feel as though her feet had been lifted from the floor and she waltzed upon clouds. “So are your coffers nearly empty or completely empty?”
The small smile playing over lips that promised the sort of kisses she’d read about in romantic novels didn’t waver, but his brow did pleat slightly. “My coffers are full.”
“Then why did you ask me for a waltz?”
“I’m not quite sure. Perhaps it was the brown of your eyes. Or the fair shade of your hair. The alabaster smoothness of your skin. The fullness of your bottom lip that begs for a man to cushion his mouth there. Or maybe you had the look about you of a woman who was in dire need of rescue.”
That was a little too close to how she’d felt, standing there with her father, smiling, greeting people whowithout him at her side would snub her. “Fancy yourself St. George do you, slaying dragons?”
